Run
by Taintless
Summary: SSHG “Because he told me to!” His voice rang through the dungeon but not one of the prisoners shuffled – they’d heard a lot worse. Nothing could faze them now, not even death. “Because the silly old man thought Potter was going to save us all! Because he


_I've been bitten by the writing bug today. Um...HBP spoilers. And, oh! Please read it! It's dark now!_

* * *

"I hate the way you look at me now…"

She shifted her position and squinted into the darkness that surrounded her. She hadn't heard someone speak in so long. She would have grabbed out, the desperation had gotten so bad, but she couldn't, because of the chains dragging her back and weighing her down.

Silence, then.

"Professor Snape?" Her voice sounded terrible, even to her own ears. Hoarse from screaming, and tired from crying. Her mind couldn't work anymore, so her senses seemed to be aware a lot more than usual. Every drip seemed like an ear-piercing scream and the odd shuffle from her dying neighbours in their almost drunken sleep seemed like the ground was shaking. The only thing she couldn't feel any longer was pain. Her wrists had nearly disintegrated from their strain against her chains but, although she could see the blood and bone, the actual pain was long gone. All that were left now were shivers and sensations, unlike anything she'd ever felt before. Right now, through the darkness, she was beginning to see him, darkness upon the darkness, a shadow where there was no light. Instinctively, she knew it was him.

He didn't tell her she was correct. They both knew she knew. She always was correct, after all.

Once, there had been anger and tears at the mere sight of him. This was all his fault. She blamed him entirely. He shouldn't have killed Dumbledore. Who had they left to depend on? Harry was only a boy. A boy who was as human as the rest of them. A boy able to laugh and cry and feel and bleed, and die. She held him in his arms long after he'd gone cold.

Once, she would have tried attack him, forgetting all about her restraints, imagining that if she struggled hard enough they'd fall off, let her free. That felt like an eternity ago. There was no fight left in her, never mind hope. She couldn't feel the pain anymore, but that didn't mean she didn't know it was there, ever present.

"What do you mean?" she managed to get out. What did he mean, he hated the way she looked at him now? Why would he care? He'd turned, and that was all there was to it. Once a Death Eater, always a Death eater – Dumbledore should have known better than to have ever trusted a Slytherin.

There had been one Slytherin she'd trusted. Pansy Parkinson. Despite everything, she'd always thought Pansy was just infatuated with Malfoy and was a bit of a bitch. She'd come close to the Slytherin, beginning to really _like_ her (_like_ a Slytherin!) and then, out of nowhere, everything had turned wrong. After Dumbledore, everyone had been a little weaker. After Ginny's death, she'd only been hoping to have another girl-friend. But Pansy was not a friend. That night, when Pansy had tried sleep that poison into Harry's goblet, she hadn't resisted in putting Pansy down, like a bad dog. Her first kill, but Hermione hadn't hesitated. It hadn't mattered anyway, Harry was dead three days later, and that poison probably would have been a pleasanter way to go.

Snape was exactly the same. A couple of days– has it really only been days– ago, she would have killed Snape had she gotten the chance. She hadn't, and now all anger and emotion was past. It wasn't peaceful – just dull and dead. They'd tortured every last piece of humanity out of her, and she wasn't much more than an animal.

She hadn't lost her mind, though. Not yet.

"You can never understand," Snape said. "There were other circumstances at hand. I hadn't wanted to kill Dumbledore. If I had realised Potter was so weak…"

"Don't talk about Harry that way," she spat. Maybe she still had a bit of herself left, after all.

"No," he sneered. "Mustn't insult precious Potter."

"Better…than…you, anyway," she gasped, an odd spasm of pain coming through her side. Strange, but talking to him was making her more human again. It wasn't particularly a good thing.

"True," he said, and there was no sarcasm in his voice.

"Why did you kill Dumbledore?" Sweat dripped from her forehead, although she felt like a block of ice. She didn't have to be a Medi-Wizard to know that she wasn't well.

"Because he told me to!" His voice rang through the dungeon but not one of the prisoners shuffled – they'd heard a lot worse. Nothing could faze them now, not even death. "Because the silly old man thought _Potter_ was going to save us all! Because he thought that my life, Malfoy's innocence and Potter's prophecy were more important! I had no choice in the matter!"

"You shouldn't have killed him." Not angry, but a resigned sigh.

"If I had only known…"

"Shut. Up." Through gritted teeth, she couldn't stand his self-pity.

He bowed his head.

"What…now?" she got out.

"Now?"

"What side are you on now?" she asked him again, and her tone, although low, was harsh.

He bowed his head once more, this time in shame.

She turned her face from him, and didn't desire to speak to him ever again.

* * *

He'd been sent down here to kill her. He looked at her now, bushy hair now so flat and brown, magnificent eyes now dull, but not defeated. Raising his wand, he was ready to give her peace at last. But, without properly thinking, he put his wand to the chains. They fell down off of her, and landed on the floor with a loud _clink_. She closed her eyes against the sound, as if it hurt her, and then opened them to look at him properly. She seemed like she could see through the impossible darkness. A spark of something familiar to the old know-it-all of the past shone though.

Not a year ago, he'd stood before Dumbledore. Pleading Dumbledore, who'd begged for death. But, despite everything, he'd know one thing – it was either his life or Dumbledore's. It had seemed a fair exchange, he hadn't been ready to die and Dumbledore had. A foolish choice, he would realise too late.

He had a similar decision now. It was simpler now though, logical and clear. He was an old man now, and she was but a child. So innocent, even after all the Death eaters had taken from her. So beautiful, despite not having even basic hygienic facilities at her disposal. So full of potential for life even at the brink of death. What had he to live for now, but the shame and disgust and death that laced his life? How would he live, if he had another dead girl pushing against his conscience?

A simple decision. A fair trade. An obvious sacrifice. He had only prolonged what was bound to happen eventually. It wasn't so easy for him though, he was scared what might happen to him, in the after life, and who would be waiting for him.

It was surprisingly easy to break out of this dungeon. People brought down here were the no-hopers. The people who had been so badly tortured that there was no chance of them having the strength to even attempt to seek freedom. There was no chance of them having a wand or anything silly like that. Hardly any Death Eaters even came down this way either – they would dirty their cloaks, and smell of the decay for days.

He lifted his wand to the wall and blew it to pieces. Blinding light flooding in on them and he flinched, and backed away, back into the shadows where he belonged. She stood there in the sunlight, however, eyes only barely open. She didn't move, dumbstruck and unbelieving. He imagined she must have been thinking this to be some sick joke.

"_Run, Hermione."_

It worked. She looked in his direction but the light had blinded her and the shadows were too dark now. But, with that one quick glance, she realised it was real. Turning painfully, she turned and ran. She didn't say thank you, she didn't feel any gratitude towards him, she still blamed him for what he was to blame for, and yet he was happy. Because she was free. Because she deserved to have another chance at life. Even if it was just to die again.

He repaired the wall again and walked out of the dungeon. He didn't free any more prisoners. They were all completely hopeless. She'd been special, stronger than those here. Letting them go would be only teasing. Death – their oncoming death – would be a mercy for them. He would do them the honour, if he had the time, but as it were, he had his own death to look forward to and he was rather nervous.

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_Just a one shot. What did you think? yeah, kind of dark. I always said I'd write another Snape/Hermione story and I always said it'd have to be dark! I think this is alright, even though I'm kind of tired so hopefully my judgement isn't too damaged. Anyway, can I get a review of you lot please? smiles toothily_


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